Chapter 5 Hate You, Need You

I lift the bottle to my lips for another drink just to be difficult, but his glare stops me.

Zayn’s hand stays out. “Now, Ashleigh.”

My name in that tone still makes my knees weak, and I hate it.

I hate him. I hate myself.

Sighing, I give him the bottle, and he sets it on my dresser without looking away from me.

The silence is almost unbearable.

I walk to my bed and drop to it, sitting on the edge.

Zayn finally speaks. “You’re drunk.”

“Genius observation.” I bite back sarcastically.

“I heard you yelling at Mum,” he says. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

I scoff sharply. “Since when do you care about Mum? You weren’t exactly worried about her walking in on us fucking yesterday.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and he steps forward.

“Keep your voice down,” he warns.

“Or what?” I spring up onto my toes, swaying from the wine, my nose almost touching his. “You’ll bend me over your knee again? Spank me? Or just shove your dick down my throat like you did Maya in that lecture hall?”

His left eye twitches. His jaw flexes so hard I can almost hear the sound of his teeth grating against one another.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Ash.” He states, looking into my eyes. “You don’t get to say that shit to me after you told me, word for word, to 'try with Maya.'”

He leans in closer. “You’ve got a whole-ass boyfriend who had his tongue in your mouth in the parking lot today, spinning you around like you’re his perfect little girlfriend. Right in front of my face.”

“So you decided to let Maya blow you to get even?” I hiss. “Real mature, Zayn.”

He laughs dryly, running a hand over his short hair. “You started this.”

Zayn’s tone is accusatory. “You wanted to play house with Carl. You wanted to prove we’re just ‘casual.’ Fine. I gave you exactly what you asked for."

I stare past him at the bottle of rosé on the dresser, speechless.

“So don’t stand here acting hurt when you finally see what casual looks like on me.”

Zayn watches me intently, crossing his arms. “Carl looks at you like you’re the best thing to ever happen to him,” he continues. “And you let him. You smile, you lie to him. You act like everything's fine. But the second he’s gone, you’re in your room drunk and crying because I let someone else touch me for five fucking minutes.”

His eyes are dark with anger.

“So tell me again how unfair I am, Ash. Tell me again how I’m the monster here.”

“I fucking hate you,” I whisper.

But I hate myself more. Because everything he’s saying is true, and I still want him to shove me against the wall and make me forget my own name.

“Yeah?” He cocks his head. “Good. Because hating me is the only honest thing you’ve done all week.”

The statement stings, and I lash out angrily, throwing my pillow at him.

“Get out of my room!”

He dodges, catching it and throwing it to the floor. “Sleep it off,” he says, walking to the door, only to pause with his hand on the handle.

“One more thing, little sis.” Zayn glances back. “The next time you decide to push me toward someone else, make sure you can actually watch it happen without falling apart.”

He closes the door after him.

I don’t cry until I hear his bedroom door open and close across the hall.

And even then, I do it silently, because he’s right.

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When the tears finally stop, I drag myself to the bathroom, splash cold water on my blotchy face, and pull on a pair of shorts.

Mum is relaxed on the big couch in the living room, watching a nineties rom-com she’s watched a hundred times and holding a glass of wine.

She’s in the black silk robe that I always joke about stealing, her dark hair like Zayn's wrapped up in a knot.

I pause at the foot of the stairs like a kid, unsure if I should go closer. But it's like she senses me and turns her head.

When her eyes assess my face, her own softens into that mum-look that makes the tears start to build up all over again.

“Oh, baby.” She sets the wine glass down on the coffee table and opens her arms to me. “Come here.”

I rush into her arms like I’m ten again, dropping to my knees in front of her and burying my face in her chest.

She strokes my hair gently as the tears start pouring anew.

Mum hugs me tighter, rocking us in a slow, comforting sway.

“Shh… I’ve got you, sweetheart,” she whispers into my hair. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

After a while, when I'm calm, I climb up beside her on the sofa and curl into her side. She keeps running her fingers through my hair in a soothing way.

“You want to tell me what happened?” She asks softly, brushing a tear off my cheek.

I shake my head.

“That’s okay.” She kisses the top of my head. “We don’t have to talk yet.”

The damn movie keeps playing, some cheesy airport confession scene, but neither of us is watching.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” I mumble after a long silence.

“Already forgotten, baby.” She squeezes me. “You’re allowed to have bad days, Ashleigh. I knew something was wrong.”

I go silent.

“Is it Carl?” Mum asks cautiously.

I almost laugh. Carl can never make me feel like this.

“No. Not Carl.”

“Then who’s making my girl cry like this?”

I swallow, fighting back the compulsion to say the truth.

"So, yeah, I'm in love with my brother, and seeing him with someone else bothers me."

“There’s someone else.” I whisper. “Someone I’m not supposed to want.”

Mum’s hand freezes in my hair for half a second, then resumes stroking. “Oh, honey. That’s… that’s always the worst kind, isn’t it?”

I nod against her shoulder.

She’s quiet for a long moment, thinking.

“Carl’s lovely,” she says gently. “He’s a good man, and I can tell he really cares about you. Any mother would be thrilled to have him for a son-in-law one day.” She pauses. “But lovely doesn’t always mean right, does it?”

I sniff, sitting up and looking at her.

“Sometimes,” she continues, “the person who makes your heart race isn’t the one who’s safest. Sometimes they’re the one who’s… complicated. Off-limits in everyone else’s eyes. And that makes it feel impossible, like you’re the only one carrying this huge, shameful secret.”

My heart thuds louder. Mum has no idea how close she is.

“I’m not going to ask who he is,” she says quickly, sensing me tense. “That’s yours to tell when you’re ready… or never, if that’s what you need. But I want you to listen to me, Ashleigh Grace.”

She cups my wet cheeks.

“You are smart, beautiful, and kind. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are allowed to want the wrong person for a little while. It doesn’t make you bad, sweetheart; it makes you human. And humans aren't perfect, okay?” she explains gently. “So if this boy looks at you the way you look at him… or if he feels the same way, then maybe the question isn’t if you should want him. Maybe the question is, what are you willing to risk to stop pretending you don’t want him?’”

Mum doesn't know.

If she did, she wouldn't be saying this.

She gathers me back into her arms. “I think,” she says carefully, “you need to let Carl go. Gently. Before you hurt him more than you already have.”

She looks into my eyes. “You’re not a cruel girl, Ashleigh. Stringing him along when your heart’s somewhere else isn't fair to him. And it’s not fair to you.”

“Okay,” I croak.

“Whoever this boy is… if he makes you feel like this, I don't know, then maybe he’s worth whatever comes next. And if he’s not, then you’ll survive that too. But you deserve to find out on your own terms, not while you’re hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

The words are right there on my tongue... "It’s Zayn, Mum. It’s always been Zayn."

Then I see her soft, trusting face, and I swallow the confession, nodding gently instead. “Thanks, Mum.”

She smiles. “I’ve got you, baby. Whatever you decide, I’ve got you. Even if the whole world thinks you’re wrong, you’ll always have me. Always.”

She kisses my hair softly.

I hold on to her, her words ringing in my head.

What am I willing to risk?

Everything is at stake.

The very foundation this family is built on.

Her.

Dad.

Am I willing to risk everything?

“I don't want to lose you, Mum,” I whisper in fear.

“You won’t lose me,” she says, looking down at me with a loving smile. “Never. I promise you that.”

I nod but don't believe it, because she doesn’t know the one thing that could make her break that promise is already living under her roof.

She doesn't know the person who’s making me feel all this is asleep upstairs, none other than Zayn Richardson… her son.

My brother.